3:45 PM |
Hello, stranger;
No, I don't think we've met
But I know I've loved you all my life
I just don't know your name yet.
------
Ai, the power of the tagboard. :]
I wuvvums y'allums.
And Nic: I DO look weird in pictures!!! Like, I look retarded, please. :O
..."Is that Paul Twohill next to Maxine in that picture? ...Eeyergh, I didn't know he had gotten so fattt!"
Or [worse still]: "What's that black thingy with eyeliner doing in the picture next to Nicole?"
Only sometimes exceptions occur; [possibly something to do with the refraction of light], and my alien identity is successfully concealed [for the time being!] when the occasional photograph turns out with me looking normal in it.
I said the OCCASIONAL photograph.
Blah, but anyway...
Blame me, or call me plain idle, but whatev. I'll admit it- I'm bored. I need some new excitement in my life.
Gaw, we need something to rock suburbia off its terraced feet yeah.
Pfffftttttt.
Somebody DO something, please! Throw an uncensored party; let's scrape and run and spend a whole night out at the movies; or I KNOW.
WHY DON'T WE ALL PACK OUR SUITCASES AND HEAD TO THE BAHAMAS?
I've heard the weather's awesome shizz there this time of year.
...Is it just my problem; or are ANY of you bored like me?
...Oookay, maybe it's just my problem. :/
But grah I need to do something quickquick.
Oh yeah, I've been working on my poetry portfolio. Seriously, sometimes I get this close to taking my pen and grinding it into my contact lens.
Honestly.
It tees me off like nothing else can; when I try to find a vent for all the emotions spinning around inside of me- and still fail to let them flow off into paper. Sometimes my emotions get so wide and so deep that it's freaky, and suddenly you start to see things and question things that you would never have seen or questioned before.
I should know- that happened before, and I spent the rest of the day walking around dazedly and generally just being a useless stoner.
[But a useless POETIC stoner, at least!!!]
Sometimes when I'm in my weird poetryesque moods- life just seems so BIG and uncomprehensible. ...Which is puhretty unnerving; because then sometimes I feel like I've been caught up in this Bermuda Triangle of unfallible sentiments and meanings and deep philosophy.
[Blah, I know, Cara's ranting again.]
[...But then again, when does she ever not rant?]
...Still, the feeling of achievement and enlightenment when I complete a piece of writing that I feel is satisfactory- gaw, it gives me a high like no other. [...I know. I get high on poetry. ...So sue me, okay?] It's a wonderful, wonderful feeling- like somehow life has stooped down and handed a little piece of itself to you. I think I'd feel the same way if the sea breeze in Ireland swept close to me and whispered a mermaiden sekkkrit into my ear.
Or if the Sun came down and gave me a shaft of golden sunlight to weave into my hair.
OH I KNOW I KNOW.
THIS IS BORING STUFF, AND AS SUCH UNSUITABLE FOR A BLOGPOST.
...Forgive me, heee. I just needed to get all of that off my chest. Never mind if nobody else understood my inane grumblings.
"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and neccessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love; these are what we stay alive for."
-Dead Poet's Society
P.S: But I'm not a dead poet!
P.P.S: ...Yet.